


I'll Be Your Levy

by cecilkirk



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ryden, angst if you squint, trans!Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan's nervous as coming out as trans to his friends, but he's most nervous about telling his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Levy

Ryan lets the words tumble out, crashing to the floor between his feet. He sits opposite Brendon, each on a twin bed in the guest room. For a moment, he wonders if Brendon heard because he remains silent for so long. He begins to wonder what kind of negative reaction is forming behind his lips, what kind of disgust he's about to face, what kind of self-berating he's going to put himself through for doing this and making himself regret the step forward he took, and--

"Do you want me to call you something different, then?"

He blinks, taken aback by how relaxed Brendon's response is. It feels like missing a stair while going down a flight and quickly finding it. The difference in expectation and reality is jarring.

"Yeah. Um, yeah. Ryan," he says, voice getting progressively quieter.

"Ryan," Brendon tries, nodding.

He grins, wide and easy and genuine. 

It moves Ryan to tears.

"Hey, hey," Brendon says, standing and helping pull Ryan to his feet. "Please don't cry, Ryan. You're going to make me cry," Brendon says through a laugh. He wraps his arms around Ryan and presses a kiss into his hair. When he pulls away, Ryan wipes his eyes and grins, having caught Brendon's insouciant laughter.

"Have you told anyone else?" Brendon asks. His fingers find Ryan's, and their hands knot loosely, clumsily.

"Yeah," he says. Brendon's eyes are bright, inquisitive, and his head is cocked a handful of degrees. "You were the last. I told my family about last month, and I told Spencer and Jon about a week ago."

Brendon drops his hand from Ryan's briefly, just to match them up together neatly, fingers intertwined to minimize space between.

"Were you afraid to tell me?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Ryan says. He can hear his voice regaining strength, solidifying in his own ears. "I mean, I was scared to tell them, too, but I feared your reaction most of all."

Brendon's face drops. "Why? Have I ever done something to make you think I wouldn't be accepting?"

"No, no," Ryan says hurriedly, anxious to eradicate Brendon's assumption. "I just--if you didn't take it well, I'd be most afraid of losing you."

Brendon's eyes momentarily flicker downward to hide the sheepish grin and heat blooming across his cheeks. "I'd like to think I know your soul too well to ever leave you."

Ryan blinks, and blinks again. He's at a complete and utter loss for words.

"I'm proud of you, Ryan," he says. He notices Ryan's fingers are trembling and he squeezes them between his own.  "I really am."

Brendon kisses Ryan's forehead before pulling him in for another hug. Looser, this time, more comfortable and relaxed. Full of peace. Ryan presses his nose into the crook of Brendon's neck, aware that the trembling in his hands is fading. He had miscounted the steps on this descent, but he found the floor. It had been much easier than he'd ever thought.

 

 

 

Spencer and Ryan had been inseparable their entire lives. Classes kept them apart all week, so in lieu of lost time they spent Friday nights together. To make up for the minutes missed with each other, they often got very little sleep. And as Spencer drove them to the diner for an early breakfast, Ryan struggled with the concept of time.

"We saw the sun rise, Spencer," he mutters, unaware of the words dripping between his teeth. "I don't even remember the sun ever setting."

"I know, Ryan," Spencer says, nearly chugging down his coffee.

Ryan picks at a stain in his jeans. Thrift stores left his purchases with secondhand memories that he yearned to know more about. "I don't remember falling asleep."

"That's because we didn't," Spencer says through a yawn. "You thought it'd be a good idea to reorganize your entire room."

Ryan squints, fingers stopping. He tries to remember, but it's just out of reach. "Hmm."

"You emptied entire dressers onto the floor, Ryan," he says, annoyance beginning to harden his words. "I didn't know anyone could keep as much pointless shit as you do."

Something clicks in Ryan's memory, and: "How would you know? You were watching  _Catfish_ in the basement."

Spencer turns to look at him. "I could hear stuff hit the floor. What the hell do you keep that's metallic? Three hundred dollars in pennies? Forks? Jacks?"

Ryan pulls his eyes away to look out the window. "Don't worry about it," he mutters.

Spencer snorts, and Ryan can't fight a grin. He steals some of Spencer's coffee, waving away the hand that tries to smack his off.

When they arrive at the diner, it's just after six-thirty. Inside Jon and Brendon sit at their booth, the one they claimed every Saturday morning. Jon's head is propped up on his hand, and Brendon's face is flat on the counter.

"Good morning," Spencer announces in mocking regal, and he slides in next to Jon, shoving him awake. "And how has this glorious Saturday greeted us this far?"

Brendon groans into the counter. Ryan rubs his back, laughing.

"Why did we even decide to do this," Jon mutters. "We're teenagers. It's unholy to be awake this early."

No one answers his question; they don't need to. Over the years, it had become a joke to get up this early and to suffer through sleep deprivation together. As they learned that this diner only saw them in these fresh morning hours, it became a place of solitude and security, and they felt free to speak about whatever they wanted, finally together when they could never be elsewhere. This booth had seen breakups, fights, and more shattered dishes than the owners probably should have let slide. But it had also seen make-ups, confessions, and the illustrations of their trust: Ryan had talked about his father's alcoholism, Brendon had talked about being queer in a religious family, Spencer had brought up his self-destructive tendencies, and Jon his burning desire to make music. Over the years, this very booth had seen more growth and change than their own houses. If nothing else, this diner would outlast all of their other memories together elsewhere.

Spencer and Jon look knowingly at Ryan, and Ryan nods. 

"So, gentlemen," Spencer says through a grin, and Ryan's chest feels aerated with joy at the collective group Spencer uses, "the usual?"

Finally, Brendon lifts his head up. "Yes. With extra coffee. All the goddamn beans they'll let us have."

Ryan smiles at this, but it feels distant. As the conversations between them carry on, he progressively falls out of them. Not on purpose, though, and he knows it; regardless of causation, the ceiling tiles begin to press into his shoulders like berating fingers. Sadness fills the spaces between his bones, decapitating every word that bubbles up in his throat. 

And he watches them, becoming an outsider among his own friends, becoming a stranger to the only people that know him just as well as he knows himself. It's a subdued hum of sadness, resonating between his thoughts. He can't muster the energy to speak, and he doesn't feel like they would want to hear him, anyway.

The morning comes into its own as laughter grows louder and sleepiness fades away. Ryan doesn't think he could feel more out of place.

As per usual, Jon and Spencer leave, either catching up on sleep or writing music sporadically. And as per usual, Ryan heads home with Brendon to spend the day together. 

"You all right, Ryan?" he asks, shutting the front door behind him. "You're pretty quiet."

"Yeah," Ryan says absentmindedly. "Just got a headache," he tries.

"Oh," Brendon says, worry encasing his words. He looks at Ryan, but Ryan won't meet his eyes. "You can go lay down upstairs, if you'd like. Want any ibuprofen, or--?"

"No," he says. "I'm fine. Sorry, I just--sorry. Hopefully it'll go away soon."

"Yeah, hopefully," Brendon says, watching Ryan ascend the stairs.

As Ryan makes his way to the spare bedroom, he passes Brendon's. He looks past the open door just briefly, just as he walks past, and his breath hitches. He takes a step back to negate his fear--he hadn't looked right, it wasn't real, it was the depression--but there wasn't any point. It was real.

Brendon had taken all of his pictures of the two of them off his walls.

Some of them had been there for years, covering his room like wallpaper. And they were all gone. Every single one.

Ryan clenches his jaw and heads down the hall again. He can't bring himself to cross the threshold and examine any closer.

He lay in the twin bed, staring at the wall and feigning sleep. It feels like only minutes have passed, but when Brendon enters he's suddenly aware the sun has begun its descent.

"Hey," Brendon says, sitting on the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he says, and he can hear the prevarication in his voice. Even more irritating is the fact that he knows Brendon can hear it, too.

"What's wrong, Ryan?"

"Just tired. I'm fine," he mutters, frustrated to know it's futile to lie to Brendon but desperately wanting it to work.

"No you're not," he says, moving to sit on the floor in front of Ryan so their eyes meet. "Please tell me what's up. I want to help you."

Ryan swallows, searching in Brendon's eyes for the roots of the promise. He decides to lie any more would hurt Brendon more than himself, and he doesn't want to do that to him.

"Why did you take all the pictures down?"

Brendon blinks, cocking his head ever so slightly. "I was afraid they might be upsetting to you," he explains slowly, evenly. "Some of them are really old, and--I don't know. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. I mean, I saved all of them, but I wasn't sure how they would make you feel."

Ryan processes this, and the mixture of emotions knots his stomach. "Oh," he says. "I--oh."

Brendon's eyes flicker in Ryan's. He doesn't know what Ryan's response means.

"I just--I couldn't just get rid of all those memories, but I--"

"No, it's okay," Ryan says, adjusting the pillow between his arm and cheek. "I just feared the worst when I saw them gone."

Brendon moves an inch closer. "The wor--? Ryan, I couldn't--I don't think you could ever reveal anything about yourself that would make me want to leave you."

Ryan begins to grin. "Thank you, Bren."

"I mean it," he says, reaching out to pick at the bed frame. "I really do. I think it's incredible you trust me as much as you do, and I'm lucky to know you. I love--I love learning to know you," he says.

Ryan puts his hand over his face, haphazardly hiding a smile. "Don't you dare make me emotional, Bren."

"It's what I live for," Brendon says. "I love you."

Ryan blinks, feeling his chest tighten. He can't structure the new flood of thoughts, the new realizations those words bring, but he can do one thing, and--

"I love you, too," Ryan says softly.

They both grin shyly, embarrassed at the weight of their words, but equally at the affirmation of the other's genuine meaning. It was reciprocated; it was real.

Brendon leans forward and kisses Ryan awkwardly, softly, closing his eyes and focusing on sealing the moment with this kiss--the best way he can think to do so. He puts his hand in Ryan's hair, and Ryan moves the few inches back in his bed that he can, inviting Brendon to join him.

And he does.

Their knees lay lazily across each other, legs intertwining loosely. Brendon's fingers find Ryan's hair again, brushing it away from his face and ear. "Ryan," he mutters against his lips. "Ryan, Ryan Ross."

Ryan grins, kissing Brendon back sloppily but sweetly, not caring how their lips match. He takes Brendon's free hand, knots their fingers, and brings it close to his chest. 

Through the window facing him, Ryan watches the sun fall beneath the horizon. As the stars become pinpoint illuminations and darkness settles between them, he feels at peace. Brendon is falling asleep; he watches as Brendon's eyes close, his chest rise and fall more slowly, his fingers cease toying with Ryan's hair. There is too much excitement in Ryan's heart and head to sleep now, regardless of how his eyes burn. He strives to save this memory for as long as he can. He doesn't want to let this moment end.

 


End file.
